Blood on the Pavement
by basilisk-chan
Summary: The lightening crackled in Alice's hands, humming and hissing loudly. Her eyes were trained on the clowns. If you could call them clowns, that is. They looked more like a slaughterhouse crossed with a circus. Rage filled her body. This was it. She would not let a single one of these monsters out of this building. She would become the very thing she hunted: a serial killer.
1. Chapter 1

**Um, so...It's been a while *nervous laughter* I've been procrastinating for a _really_ long time. But, I figured this would be a good time, since it's my best friend's birthday today! That, and it's Valentine's Day, but meh. Happy Birthday, IceDynamiteDragonflyStars! You guys should go check out her stuff, she's an awesome writer and her fanfictions are amazing!**

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CHAPTER 1

The frigid water splashed against her leg, stinging like sharp needles.

Several black-clad figures sped through the damp and cold streets, gray snow slashing at their faces. The engines roared in their ears and the adrenaline pounded in their veins. Hot breath puffed into the air, creating a fog in their vision. Still, they kept their eyes trained on the figure ahead. It was their only goal. Their only purpose in the world at that moment. People dashed away from the middle of the streets, watching with bug-eyed fear and slack jaws. Children clung to their mothers in fear and onlookers watched in steely curiosity. Sirens wailed, piercing the dim morning air.

Blue and red lights swirled from on top of the police cars, lighting up the dark streets of London.

"Pull over, Dude!" A large, boisterous man from the biggest of the black automobiles called out through a megaphone. The golden gears of the police car hummed and roared, puffing out steam from within the machine. His American accent cut through the rough winds, screeching like nails on a chalkboard. The man's corn-yellow hair was wet from the gray slate coming down rapidly, his cowlick lashing around in the wind from under his officer's cap. His voice sounded cheerful enough, but there was a dagger-like glare to his sky blue eyes. " _Dude, get the fuck off the road!"_

A woman in her late twenties rolled her eyes, letting out a loud groan. No one could hear her through the howling wind, though that was a good thing in her case. Her razor-sharp gaze was focused on the man in front of them. _Baron of Cornwall. Murdered his wife and his two daughters for insurance money._ Hired. _Hired someone to kill them. There was no way he could've done it himself. The bastard couldn't even touch a piece of raw chicken; there was no way he could kill a person. It was a messy case, too. It had probably been a multi-person job. Mother tried to shield her children._ The woman felt her throat tighten. She watched the man tremble in front of her, and she suspected that it wasn't just because of the cold.

Something was strange about all of this. Baron Fucktard had never driven a vehicle, let alone a bike, before. It was amazing that he hadn't crashed yet. It was amazing that they hadn't snatched him yet.

"Amazing…" The blonde woman frowned, watching the way the Baron moved. His left fingers were twitching uncannily. Her eyes widened in realization, watching as his body twitched in certain places. Almost as if it was flickering. That was it. "This slimy little fucker." She hissed under her breath.

She glanced one last time at the police troupe. Alfred – the man who was still screaming into the megaphone –would never hear her over the winds and himself. And besides, she couldn't allow any _other_ people finding out what she knew. No, she had to settle this alone.

She sighed, slowing down from the group. As soon as they were barely an inch ahead of her, she swerved the bike to the left, and straight down a dark alleyway. Her arm slammed against the wall. She bit down on her lip and ignored it, focusing on steering through the narrow, trash-ridden alley.

The flashes of gray and brick went past her eyesight.

The Baron was an idiot, that had been established long before the detective had even inherited the case. However, he wasn't a total idiot. Or, at the very least, he'd been an idiot in all of the right places. At all of the right times. The Detective had suspected that he was up to something; had suspected that this hadn't just been a simple "hire-to-kill" job. And the fact that his left fingers were twitching like that only confirmed her suspicions. She braced herself for the sharp turn and barely missed ramming straight into the rusty flat stairs. Her coat ripped and flesh was exposed to the stinging air.

The blonde biker could've sworn that she heard some person screech from behind her.

She focused on the maze of alleys. Unlike the Baron, she had been through this neighborhood quite a few times before. _Ribbington street._ _Infamous for crimes of all types and home to most of the warehouse workers nearby._

 _Never mind_ , she thought, catching the sight a makeshift cardboard box home. It _had_ been the home of the warehouse workers.

The woman smirked; she knew exactly where to go. She slammed on the gas pedal.

XXX

The police officer looked down from the snow covered hill.

Her Kelly green eyes focused on the old building below her, feeling a twist of excitement that shouldn't have been there. Her walkie-talkie crackled, static filling the tense air around her. She looked at it, indifferently. It'd be about time, now.

"… _Whe…re the fuck… are you…?"_ Alfred's pissed voice came, breaking up over the line.

Good. They were close enough, then. She pressed the copper button. "Get on Ribbington and find the abandoned warehouse. Go through the back alley with the creek nearby." She clicked her walkie-talkie back into the bike. _We can't have these fuckers getting away, now can we?_

Alice's sharp gaze focused on the old warehouse below. It old building, five levels high and covered in at least an inch of rust and soot. All along the breadth of the building were small windows, most shattered and the rest cracked. Graffiti marked the walls, twisting in ugly and dark curves.

The woman remembered the day that the warehouse had closed down.

It had been Alfred's first case as captain of the 7th Division and had his whole team called in to try and prevent the disgruntled ex-employees from destroying the warehouse. Obviously, Alfred had failed in that respect. No one really cared, though, so it was a minor blemish on his career.

The woman spotted a dark car come into view. A van of some sort, to be precise. The woman watched it pull into the warehouse yard and eventually hide behind the view of the old building. She huffed and turned off her bike. Her legs buzzing from the hum of her bike, the woman quickly hopped off. She put the bike – _Bloody Mary_ , as she liked to call it – into park. The policewoman jerked the helmet off of her head.

The cold air rushed into her and she shut her eyes on reflex as the ash-colored snow attacked her face.

"Damn it," She hissed. Her bright green eyes blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the bright light. The woman wasn't wearing the typical police uniform of a somewhat unhealthy mix of black leather and buckles. She swore that whoever designed the uniforms had a fetish of some sorts. She hugged her chestnut brown trench coat closer to her small frame, shivering slightly. Her combat boots – the one thing she liked about the uniform – crunched the slush and hail mix underneath her feet. Her golden badge glinted from on her maroon blouse.

 _Inspector Kirkland._

She sighed, hot breath puffing into the air. The wail of the sirens was like a distant whisper. She knew that they'd be here soon. But not soon enough. Kirkland sighed one more time and jumped into the ravine.

XXX

Kirkland slipped away to the warehouse, careful not to step on any glass or metal.

Her body shivered under her paper thin coat. She really needed a new one. An open doorway was at the side of the building, looking as if someone had wrestled it off and part of the actual building had crumbled off as well. Spray-painted brick crumbled at the touch, causing Kirkland to flinch away. The inspector grumbled something incoherent and wiped her hands on her old coat.

It was an old warehouse, after all.

She remembered her father saying that it had been old before he and her mother had moved to London. She couldn't exactly remember what had happened, but essentially, the warehouse owners had been terrible at taking care of their equipment and their employees. That was one reason why the place looked as if she had walked into an antique waste yard. But, if she remembered correctly, there had been several deaths caused by the lack of care to the machines.

Accidents, yes, but the Labor Union had gone nutters over the fact and demanded that the owners get off their fat asses and do something about it. The owners didn't listen and the Union ended up taking their problem to the Mayor.

The Mayor, of course, wanted nothing to do with the problem and after arguing with both the Union and the owners for a few months just ordered the warehouse to be shut down.

The female inspector walked through the building, but no sense of warmth came. Of course not, the place was practically just framework, at this point. Wires and wrenches and old tools crunched under her feet as she walked through the building. Thick dusted seemed to cover every inch of the building. Snow and slush were nearly everywhere, as well. She marched through the building, looking at the smashed lights overhead as she went.

The cold wind howled through the skeleton of what had once been a prosperous place. The warehouse shuddered harshly. Kirkland looked up, frowning deeply. She did not need the building come down on her right now. Huffing, the grumpy policewoman trudged up a fleet of stairs, not caring that she wasn't being all that quiet. The woman must've gone up about three more fleets and two abandoned floors until she finally reached her destination.

"Hey, jackasses." She called out, deadpanning. "The whole point of a bloody hologram is to distract the police from your real location. Not to tell me where you are."

The three men whipped around to gawk at her. Guess she hadn't been that loud.

" _ **Of course, it's you."**_ The middle one glared at her. Gray-tinted and sagging skin and the body of a beanpole.

Her eyebrow raised. "If it isn't Inspector Gosling." She shrugged, nonchalantly. "Can't say I'm surprised, though."

"You wouldn't understand," Gosling said.

She snorted, coming closer to the trio. She didn't miss the way that the Baron was trembling. "There are easier ways to get money than murdering two innocent children and their mother." Her glare sharpened, like flint. "And you, Baron Dipshit, I'm not even going to start on you. Just know that I will _personally_ make sure you pay for what you did."

"A wonderful job you've done with it, huh?" The third one spoke. Mr. Lennox, the Baron's gardener or some shit. "It's taken the stupid police two months to find out about us. And even now they still haven't found out that they're chasing after a hologram."

Kirkland chuckled darkly. "That's because Jones and I only just got this case two days ago. Do you gormless twats really think that you're so clever?" She barked out a laugh. "The only reason you three have gotten this far is because you've had Gosling covering your tracks and incompetent officers after you."

The police sirens wailed, signaling them that Alfred had finally arrived.

She sighed. "Oh, well. I was hoping to have a bit more time with you three, but this'll do." Kirkland cracked her knuckles, grinning darkly.

XXX

"Alice?"

The woman – Alice Kirkland – looked up from the pile of men. "How long did it take you to realize that it was a hologram?"

Alfred's face darkened. "Longer than it should have." The remaining police officers stormed up the stairs, only to find their criminals lying in a beaten pile of shame. "What happened here?"

She shrugged. "There was a fly on their face."

"A fly in this weather? Not even a polar bear would be out here right now."

"Quite peculiar, isn't it?"

"…And all three of them had flies on their face?"

"What a strange world we live in."

Alfred stopped one of the police officers. They were carrying the Baron. Alfred took his patriotic, humming, metal arm and swung it into his stomach. Alice raised an eyebrow.

"Fly." Was all that Alfred said.

She shook her head. "One of these days, you're going to get in trouble."

He snorted, looking her up and down. "Maybe, but my boyfriend's a lawyer. If I get in trouble, Ivan can bail me out of it." Alfred said, "You, however, your boyfriend's going to kill you when he sees you."

Dread knotted in her stomach. That was right. Francis. "Point taken."


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

" _Je ne peux pas vous croire!"_

Alice listened quietly. She was grateful that they had the whole Sick Bay to themselves; it was pretty unusual for there not to be at least five people down with some sort of bug or an injury. Still, they kept a thick woolen curtain around the medical bed – which was about as soft as a rock.

The English woman had been stripped of her blouse and coat, revealing dark and jagged scars across her body. A horizontal scar traced her stomach. _Stomach cancer surgery, Berlin._ It was the oldest scar. Two holes marked against her pale skin, just above her kidneys. _Sicily, Italy. Mafia war break out._ The second oldest.

Her shoulder was blanketed with another bullet hole and a long jagged scar that stretched across her collar bone, which was the result of the constant tear that the bullet wound had gone through. _Work, Vash Zwingli. Mafia sniper and ex-suspect._ Third oldest.

The biggest and most painful scars were the two on the center and left side of her chest. A foot-long scar ran down from the tip of her collar bone to the mid of her ribcage. Another was a large, fist-shaped star-like scar. _Heart surgery and stabbing, each caused by Lutz Beildschmidt._ Fourth and fifth, respectively.

Each with some twisted story to tell that really just belonged in some cheesy novel. She watched as her boyfriend of two years continued on his rant in French gibberish. Some of it she couldn't even translate, he was going so fast.

" _Je sais quo votre travail est important pour vous, je comprends. Mais pourriez-vous au moins essayer de vous mettre dans mes chaussures?!"_ Francis Bonnefoy was on a rampage. Alice simply stared at him, a fond but irritated smile on her face. Ex-rich boy and player of France, this Frenchman was surely enough to handle. Usually a lover and worrier; not a fighter, it was weird to see him get so worked up over something. Then again, he was very protective over Alice and his son, Matthew ever since the incident with Lutz.

It had been a two years and a half since the Beildschmidt case.

They had nicknamed it the Crime of the Century, but Alice couldn't have cared less. A madman had run rampant through London – _her London_ – and that was unacceptable. She would never allow that to happen again. She would never let anyone like that come near her family again. Simple enough. Case closed.

But it wasn't just a simple case. It never had been.

Lutz had not only sent ripples across London but the entire world. His tale had cast shivers down the spines of every capital in the world. Any and all trading with the German empire had been cautious and slowed. Even tourism had dropped dramatically. It hadn't been that bad since the last economic bust, which was twenty-two years ago.

The fact that Lutz was connected to the Italian Mafia and the Beildschmidt family had been kept a secret from the whole world, courtesy of Lovino Vargas.

The Vargas family ruled over the entirety of the Underground of Italy. They had connections across the world, the recent additions being the Beildschmidt mechanical factoring empire and a group of infamous Spanish pirates.

Alice knew all of them personally and honestly was quite unimpressed.

Lovino could simply be described as an Italian midget with expensive tastes and a constant state of PMS. His brother, Feliciano Vargas, was the exact opposite, personality-wise and pretty much only said: "Pasta~!" or " _Doitsu~!"_ Antonio – Captain Dickwad – was by far the most annoying air pirate in existence. The Beildschmidt family – Gilbert, the oldest and Ludwig, the youngest – were all right, from what Alice had seen. Ludwig didn't talk much and when he did, it was ninety percent about work and ten percent complaining about his older brother and Feliciano. Gilbert was the polar opposite of Ludwig, that much she could tell, even if it was a fifteen-minute conversation.

It had been quiet.

Alice hadn't heard from any of them since the Beildschmidt case. Not even from Kiku, Elizabeta, or Berwald. The Fox and the Goblin had closed down just a few months ago from the sudden lack of customers. No one from the Mafia was there at the closing day. Not even Yao or his other children.

She had conflicting feelings about this. On one hand, that meant that London was safer than ever before. The Mafia had retreated and crime had dropped a bit since the Beildschmidt case. No one ever dared to defy Alice once they found out who she was. Her salary had increased, which was always a good thing, and people had started respecting her. That was different from usual.

But on the other hand…

"Francis?"

Her boyfriend stopped mid-rant to look down at her. His indigo eyes softened at the sight of her shivering frame. "What is it, darling?"

"I'm sorry. I know I should've waited for back-up." She watched his eyes harden for a second. "I won't do it again. Promise."

At that, he visibly relaxed. Kirklands weren't often that reliable, but if they made you a promise, you could be as sure as that the sun will rise, that they would keep their promise. Francis sat down next to her on the hard bed. His warm hands ran over the several scars on her body. "Try to take care of yourself." He sighed, kissing the corner of her neck. "If not for yourself, zen at least for ze people zat care about you." She nodded and their lips met.

XXX

Alice watched on, smiling.

Ivan Braginski was kneeling on the glistening wooden floors. Her brother – Alfred – stood above him, one hand clasped over his mouth and another outstretched to Ivan. She paid close attention to his watery, joy-filled expression. It was possibly the happiest Alice had ever seen him.

"Alfred F. Jones, love of my life, and boyfriend of five years, would you do the honor of making me the happiest man alive?" Ivan asked, stuttering slightly at the end. It was cheesy. It was a horrible proposal, honestly, but Alfred loved those kinds of things that looked like it popped out of a two-pound chic-flick.

He nodded mutely. "Yes…Yes, yes, yes… You big idiot, yes!" Alfred sobbed happily and Alice felt a ball of warmth swarm in her chest. She didn't even realize that she was wearing the goofiest grin until everyone in the room was. Even Natalia, Ivan's bro-con of a little sister, was smiling softly in the opposite corner of the room. The Russian's and American's lips collided and a round of applause roared through the house.

It was a nice house. It was in a quiet part of London – that in itself was hard to find – and it was close enough to Alfred and Ivan's work that they wouldn't have to catch a train, which would be costly enough for the new couple. The house had been a big project and so was this whole proposal business. It had taken almost a year of planning and lots of outside help. She still remembered that day that Ivan had pulled her aside some time after the Lutz case.

" _Braginski? What are you doing here?" Alice raised an eyebrow at Ivan. "Alfred's not here, sorry. He's out on patrol for another two hours."_

 _Ivan nodded, fidgeting slightly. Huh. Weird. "I know, I – I wanted to speak to you, Alice."_

 _Her eyebrows sky-rocketed and her jaw went slack for a moment. Alice? He had a hard time calling her Kirkland! Most of the time it was some Russian cuss word. And Ivan received the same treatment from her. "Um, well, come in then? Ivan?" Alice cursed her stuttering and tried to compose herself._

"Spasibo," _Ivan said, walking into her office._

" _Um, sorry about the mess." Alice looked around the cluttered room. "I wasn't expecting any visitors."_

"Da." _Was all that he said._

" _I take it that this is about Alfred, then?" Ivan nodded. "Right, well, what seems to be the problem?"_

 _Ivan shook his head. "No problem. Well, maybe." He paused and looked up at her. "Alfred doesn't know this, but I've been working on a secret project at work."_

 _She frowned, watching him fiddle with his thumbs. "How come Alfred doesn't know?"_

" _I want it to be a surprise." He sighed and looked up at Alice, violet eyes burning. "And I've nearly succeeded. I'm working with other lawyers across Britain to help make same-sex marriage possible."_

 _Her eyes widened. "That's quite a project."_

 _Ivan nodded. "Right now, about sixty-percent of the public agrees with same-sex marriage."_

 _Alice nodded. "Yeah, I saw that in a paper once. So, you've nearly got it legalized? Good for you."_

 _He gave a half-hearted smirk. "I should hope so. I've been working on this for nearly since I started dating Alfred."_

 _Alice smirked. She had a feeling it was going this way. "That would explain why Alfred has been a bit gloomy this past week. He dislikes being ignored, you know."_

 _Ivan's face dropped for a bit. "I know. I'll make it up to him." He looked at her. "I want your permission to marry him."_

 _Alice's smirk grew. "Took quite a bit of your pride to say that, then?"_

 _Ivan's expression dulled._ "Da."

" _Why me?"_

" _Alfred's parents – both biological and adoptive – are dead. You're the only one who he considers family left alive." Ivan swallowed. "And also, because you're important to him. As much as I hate it, you'll always be in our lives. Whenever we have problems, he comes to you. Alice, you're one of the most important people in his life and I think that if he does accept, we're going to have to get along. For Alfred."_

 _She laughed. She actually laughed at him. "You're a moron." Alice grinned at him. "You have no idea how much he loves you, do you? What do you need help with?"_

Yekaterina, Natalia, and Alice had banned together – momentarily forgetting their differences – for the sake of their brothers. Kate – as Yekaterina preferred to be called – was a real estate agent, so finding a house at a good price and in a good neighborhood was easy. Natalia's boyfriend, Toris Lorinaitis, worked in the moving business, so she had him and his friends move Alfred and Ivan's furniture for free. Toris was a nice man. Timid, but nice. And a masochist, obviously, seeing as his girlfriend had a thing for knives. Alice had seen Natalia at her work a few times. Nothing serious, yet. But that was the key word with the Belarusian girl: yet.

Alice hadn't done that much. It was mostly little jobs here and there. She helped Ivan pick the engagement ring, dealt with the catering for the party, and adjusted Alfred's schedule to keep him busy so that he wouldn't suspecting anything.

Alice watched her little brother smile up brightly at Ivan. Yes. Alfred was happy and he deserved than this more than anyone else.

"Hello, Ms. Alice." She turned to see Toris.

"Oh, hello, Toris." Alice looked at the timid man. His light brown hair was tied back and he had put on his best clothes: A green swirling waistcoat, slacks, and black oxfords. "How's the, uh, moving business going?"

"Fine." Natalia appeared next to her boyfriend, glaring darkly at Alice. The English woman was used to it, by now. The Belarusian looked like a doll of sorts, porcelain skin, silvery hair, long lashes that hid her violet eyes. Her silk blue dresses glided across the floor.

Beautiful, yes, but no amount of beauty could make up for the fact that Natalia was the biggest bitch Alice had ever met.

"Ah, Natalia." She said, dryly. Alice hadn't been born with enough middle fingers for Natalia. "It's a nice turnout, I must say."

"Oh, yes! It is, isn't it?" Yekaterina bounded over. Well, she walked normal enough. Her breasts bounded for her.

Natalia got a bitter look on her face as her sister arrived. "Big brother deserves better."

"And who did you have in mind?" Alice raised an eyebrow, glaring darkly at her.

"Anyone would've been better than that disgusting American brat." Natalia snarled back.

"Our brothers are happy and that's all that matters. Do try and be a little less selfish this once." She narrowed her eyes at Natalia. "Good day, Natalia. I hope you get hit by a car on your way home." And with that, Alice left, looking for her boyfriend.

XXX

She found Francis in the waiting room, which was unoccupied.

"Frog, are you all right?" Alice asked, sitting next to him.

He looked up at her, a goofier than usual smile on his face. "Oh, _ma reine_ ~" The smell of vodka came over her. Great.

"How much did you drink?" She asked.

He just giggled. " _Je t'aime, Alice."_

Alice gave him a soft grin. " _Je t'aime aussi, grenouille."_

Francis' smile widened at that. He hiccuped slightly. "We've been dating a long –" He hiccupped again. "time, eh?"

She nodded, slipping her hand into his smoother one. There was no way he'd remember this in the morning. "Two years."

"'ow long were you wiz him?" Francis asked, looking slightly sad.

Alice frowned. It was unusual for Francis to ask about her ex-fiancé. He generally got grumpy whenever it was mentioned, so she just didn't. Alice had discovered over their time of dating that Francis was more of the jealous type. You wouldn't think he was, considering his motto was something like "spread love to the world", but he was indeed just a tad bit jealous. Alice loved it, secretly. Plus, it was always fun to rile him up.

"Well, we dated for about three years, if that's what you mean." Alice offered.

He looked down, forlorn. Oops. "…Another year, huh?"

"Another year?" Alice repeated. "Another year until what?"

The Frenchman leaned in close to her, taking his free hand and cupping her face. His thumb ran across her cheek. " _Une autre année jusqu'à ce que je peux te faire mienne ... officiellement."_ Her heart thudded against her chest and she didn't know why until her brain finally processed what he had just said. Francis kissed her. It was different than usual kisses. This one was powered by alchohol and lust.

Alice melted instantly.

Her free hand reached up and dug itself into his blonde hair, pulling him closer to her. They pulled away after a while. Panting, Alice watched him with careful eyes. She didn't know what he meant by that. Well, she had a suspicion, but that didn't mean she was going to believe it. Not unless it came straight from his mouth. Alice was _not_ going to make stupid decisions just because of a marriage proposal had made her feel nicer than usual. "Frog, I don't know what you're talking about, but –"

And then her walkie-talkie rung.

 **Translations:**

 _Je ne peux pas vous croire!_ = I cannot believe you!

 _Je sais que votre travail est important pour vous, je comprends. Mais pourriez-vous au moins essayer de vous mettre dans mes chaussures?!_ = I know your job is important to you, I get it. But could you at least try to put yourself in my shoes?!

 _Doitsu~! =_ Germany~!

 _Spasibo =_ Thank you.

 _Da =_ Yes.

 _Ma reine~ =_ My queen~.

 _Je t'aime, Alice =_ I love you, Alice.

 _Je t'aime aussi, grenouille. =_ I love you too, frog.

 _Une autre année jusqu'à ce que je peux te faire mienne ... officiellement. =_ Another year until I can make you mine ... officially.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

The cold air swarmed around Alice's warm body, but she still felt cold inside of her.

From excitement or fear, she didn't know. "Lovino."

His rich, Italian-accented voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. "Hello again, _Strega_."

Laughter bubbled out of her throat. Insane laughter. "Well, damn, you nearly lasted two years, you cheeky fucker." She felt like crying. Not now. She didn't want this. She didn't want to get wrapped up in whatever the fuck Lovino was up to. Not again. Alice still hadn't recovered from the wounds. The _real_ wounds. The things that _**broke**_ people. "Whatever it is, I don't want any part in it."

Lovino paused. "I figured you'd say that, _ragazza_." He sighed over the walkie-talkie. "I'm not going to force-a you to do anything. I already have-a my men working on this case, but they're-a all a bunch of-a incompetent-a idiots."

"I could've told you that years ago." Alice snorted, surveying her surroundings nervously. There could be no good if Lovino needed _**her**_ help.

" _Ragazza,_ " She flinched at how _pleading_ his voice almost sounded.

"…" Alice paused. Was she really going to do this? "What is it?" Yes. Yes, she was.

"Someone's been knocking off my clients. Specific clients. Important ones-a that I cannot-a afford to lose anymore-a." Lovino told her. "The assassinations are quick and public. They're not hiding the fact that they want to kill my clients."

Alice frowned. "How many are dead?"

" _ **Quindici."**_

She felt her blood run cold. She had so many questions but the one that stood out most her only left her chapped lips. "How the bloody hell does someone cover up fifteen public assassinations?"

Lovino sighed. "Mostly by bribing them, but I-a haven't done anything-a yet. Someone else is involved in this-a, too. It's a not-a just a one on one case." The Italian spit out a quick cuss word at someone on the other end. Probably Antonio. "Someone is paying off or killing the witnesses and I don't know who."

Alice fidgeted. Exciting. Dangerous. Thrilling. Her mind flashed back to Francis in the infirmary. "I still stand by what I said, Lovino. I'm not getting involved in your messed up shit again."

"Not even for seventy-five pounds a day?" Lovino offered. God, he was desperate if he was asking her for help enough to try and bribe her.

"No." Alice kept her voice firm.

He sighed again. It went quiet and then a few muffled Italian curse words. "I understand, but just give me something. I'm fucking begging here, Kirkland." Lovino continued, "Don't get involved. Fine. But at least give me a consultation. Look at the files and get back to me, all right?"

She paused. "…Fine. But only a consultation, yeah? Send it to my work." And then she hung up.

XXX

The next day, Alice found a thick file on her desk and she immediately knew what it was.

She nearly tore open the dark brown file, eager to see what was inside. Black and white and stained pictures fell out of the file, spilling across her desk. Alice's blood ran cold. _Clowns._ Their grins were painted a dark color – probably red – and it gave the effect that they were dripping. The pictures were fuzzy, like someone had taken them in a running chase or that the clown was moving too fast. She moved onto another one, frowning darkly. This one had a peg leg. And then another with a rainbow afro. Polka dotted jumpsuit, splattered with blood. The clowns were all carrying some sort of weapon you'd find at a farming store. An ax, a rake, a hatchet, a hoe, two mallets, and a scythe.

Alice moved onto the victims, shivering.

She flinched backwards, grimacing. They weren't as bad as the Beildschmidt Case victims, but it was pretty damn close. What the fuck had Lovino gotten himself involved it? Why would someone want to kill these men? They were, in fact, almost all men. There was one woman, who looked as though she had had the most merciful death of only fifteen bloody hacks. The others were not so lucky.

"So," Alice muttered softly. "We've got butchers playing dress up. And they're not happy." She looked at the pictures of the clowns, frowning. She hummed. The British woman spread out the pictures of the clowns. Fuzzy, yes. But she still could make out their basic figure.

"Female butchering clown." Alice hated how her body rushed with adrenaline. Still, she scrutinized the clowns, even further. _"Females. There's more than one."_

"Alice?"

She looked up to meet Francis' curious gaze. Alice smiled, but it was hesitant and forced. "Francis."

He raised an eyebrow but chose to say nothing, bless him. "'ere's your tea. Just ze way you like it." Francis gave her a brightly painted, slightly crooked mug. Matthew had made the mug himself in school. She remembered the bright smile on his face as he presented it to her with sore little hands.

"You mean how I like it - minus the rum." Alice pointed out, taking the cup with a slight smile on her face, nonetheless. "Thank you."

" _Nous essayons de sauver ce que vous avez quitté le foie, mon cher."_ Francis gently scolded her. His eyes turned to saucers as soon as they laid on the photographs. " _Que se passe-t-il?"_

"A consultation." She said quickly. "I've rejected the case, but I agreed to send in my opinions on it."

Francis frowned at her. "You never just send your opinions on somezing. You can't stand ze idea of someone else working on a case zat you're involved in. It's eizer your case or someone else's. Zere's no in between wiz you."

"Maybe not, but I'm trying, Francis." Alice said, not meeting his eyes. "And it's for Lovino, so - "

"Fuck Vargas." Francis bit off her sentence viciously. He took her free hand into his. "I almost lost you and my son because of his shit."

She frowned, but her stomach tingled. "He saved my life, too, you know."

"Which wouldn't be in danger if it weren't for him and his Mafia drama." Francis said. "Why? Why now? It's been two years! Two years of peace, Alice. If you really wanted nozing to do wiz Lovino, you wouldn't have even entertained the idea of a consultation."

She flinched at the harshness of his words. Alice put down her cup, not caring that a little sloshed over. "Lutz changed me for the worst, Francis." Alice said. He saw her tremble slightly and was quick to pull her into his chest, even though Francis was still angry with her - she could tell.

 _"Que voulez-vous dire?"_ He asked, running his long fingers through her hair and whispering soothing French phrases.

Alice's lips trembled. She hadn't told anyone this, yet. It had been too hard. Too hard for her to even accept what was going on. It still was hard to swallow. "I'm scared."

Immediately, Francis rushed to whisper comfort in French. "He can't hurt you, Alice. Lutz is dead. Ze bastard will never hurt you again, I promise." He had been there. Francis had been the one to comfort her on most of the nights. The hellish nights filled blood and ice blue eyes and snow. Alice was still plagued by nightmares, though it wasn't as strong as it had been before. She didn't know how she lived past the first few months. Alice had PTSD and that would never go away. It might be soothed, but it ran deeper than any cancer or scar could.

"Not of him, Francis." She sighed against him, clutching him tightly. "Of myself."

"Yourself?"

She nodded, letting out a shuddering breath. "I just...I can't explain it. Nothing...Nothing gets me - gets me excited anymore, Francis. Work is boring and every time we get a case like... _**that**_ -" Alice made a vague motion towards the messy pile of photographs and reports on her desk. "I get this adrenaline rush and I hate it. _**I'm turning insane, Francis**_."

She was suddenly pushed away. "You're right. I don't get it." Francis said. Her throat clenched itself as she saw the fire in his indigo eyes. "I have work to do." And then he was gone.

 **Translations:**

 _Strega =_ Witch.

 _Ragazza =_ Girl.

 _Quindici_ = Fifteen.

 _Nous essayons de sauver ce que vous avez quitté le foie, mon cher. =_ We're trying to salvage whatever liver you have left, my dear.

 _Que se passe-t-il?_ = What the hell?

 _Que voulez-vous dire?_ = What do you mean?


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Alice listened to Dylan chatter on, excitedly.

Of course, he was ecstatic. Dylan – after finally getting a pair of prosthetic legs – had finally been able to return to work. That had been a huge weight lifted off of not just Alice, but the whole Kirkland family's shoulders. He was working for some huge publisher in Surrey, as an editor for novels. Dylan had also published a few of his poetry pieces, which was what he was currently talking about.

It wasn't that Alice didn't care – she really did – but the only thing that her mind could think about was Francis.

Stupid, beautiful, brave Francis. God, no one told her relationships were going to be this hard. Dylan seemed to notice her plight. "Dydych chi ddim yn edrych mor dda."

She didn't even bother to deny it, sighing slightly. "Mae pethau wedi bod yn rhyfedd gyda Francis, yn ddiweddar."

Her brother snorted at that. "And this is why I'm single."

"You're single because you have no interest in dating, you twat." She sighed. "It doesn't matter."

Dylan raised an eyebrow, "It does matter." The Welshman continued. "Rydych yn byw gyda'r dyn, er mwyn Duw."

That was another thing that had changed in the past two years. Alice couldn't stay in her flat anymore, after the case. All she could see was blood and the nightmares were the most intense there. It was better, now. She could sleep in the flat, now, but Alice's most terrifying nightmares still came from that place. It was another thing Lutz had ruined for her. He had taken away all bits of her sanity, it almost seemed like. And that included her childhood home. Her siblings refused to leave her alone, though. The original plan had been for either Wilma or Dylan to move in with Alice to another flat nearby. That had been crushed by the fact that Dylan was promoted to a position in Surrey and Wilma would've been too busy with her training to keep an eye on her younger sister.

So, Francis, Alice, and little Matthew moved in together.

It was good flat, with three bedrooms, a kitchen/dining room, and a dirt room. But to be honest, within the first few months of moving into the flat, Alice's room had been turned into an all-purpose room, though usually just for work and violin practice. Alistair hadn't been too happy at that.

The three of them had been living together for almost as long as Alice and Francis had been dating, which was a bit fast, but Alice and Francis had never really abided the rules, anyways. The two years had given the Kirkland family a chance to heal all the old wounds and start to rebuild their lives. That had started with Patrick. It wasn't long after Lutz when Patty finally graduated from apprenticeship. Wherein, he almost immediately found a job working for the British Air Forces Division as an engineer on one of the blimps, thanks to his connections with the blimp's captain.

Dylan had been a close second, moving to Surrey and working for a renowned publisher, meanwhile pursuing his own literary success. He had a roommate, someone named Abel Morgens – a quiet Dutch man who liked to smoke – and his roommate's sister – Belle Morgens, a pretty blonde girl who always smelt like waffles – who came over so often she might as well have lived there, too. Dylan always seemed happy enough and always made time to visit London every month.

Wilma had been next, surprisingly. What had been even more surprising was her career choice: police officer. She had burst into Alice's room one day and declared that she wanted to work in the police force. It was a bit silly to think that Wilma would be able to change her life around in just a matter of months, but she managed somehow. Wilma earned her badge next month, if Alice remembered properly.

Alistair, unsurprisingly, still drank more than his weight in gold and still played bagpipes. By day, at least. By night, he was a boxer. More accurately described as an illegal fighter, in Alice's opinion, but she kept out of it. Alistair was aiming to become a professional boxer and he did make enough money to support himself.

And then there was Alice.

A lot of things had changed for her. Promotions, relationships, teaching Matthew to play violin, peace, turmoil. Yes, while the world was in peace, Alice stayed behind. She was trapped in a cage of misery. The war had been won, but Alice still fought the battles. And she was the only one. No one else had suffered the trauma that the detective had. Lutz died, and he had taken every bit of his vile, psychopathic ways with him. But it seemed he took her sanity, as well.

"Bunny," Dylan whispered lowly. She didn't even notice him grab her hand. She didn't even notice that it was trembling. "Tell me what's wrong."

Alice didn't cry. She didn't burst into tears and sob disgustingly. Alice had had enough of tears. "Vargas gave me a case."

Her brother tensed and she watched as his jade eyes burned. "Tell me you didn't accept."

"Just a consultation."

His eyes narrowed. "It's never just a consultation, Alice. Not with you."

"So Francis has told me." Alice sighed, glaring down into the murky waters of the Thames.

Dylan made a noise of understanding. "So that's what this is about." He paused. "I'm no detective – not like you and Pa – but Vargas has his own men to deal with his own problems. He doesn't seem like the type that'll ask for help easily, so whatever it is he's asked you to look at, it's bad."

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a vague smile. "You should've been a detective."

"No," Dylan shook his head, smiling at the compliment. "I can't stand violence. I'm not strong. Not like you or Alistair, Patty or Wilma. Definitely not like Pa. I suppose I'm more like Ma, in that respect."

"Not all detective work is violent, you know. You could've been a PI, working for suspicious spouses and crooked corporations." Alice said.

"And so could've you." Dylan gave her a pointed look. "The pay difference is fairly large – almost twice the size – but you didn't choose to be a homicide detective because of the money." They were silent for a long time…So why did you?

Alice did not miss the knowing look that he gave her. Don't you dare lie to me, I am your big brother. "…Because it meant something…" She drew out the silence, thinking. "Because, I felt like what I was doing with my life meant something. Catching criminals, serving justice, and all that bloody rubbish. But now…" Alice groaned. "It's all just so dull, Dylan! I get excited whenever I land myself a new case, but always end up disappointed in the end. I don't want to take pleasure out of a murder. It's sick, Dylan."

Surprisingly, Dylan didn't jump at her. Didn't call her a monster or push her away. "I understand. I mean, I don't, but I think I get the gist of what you're feeling." He continued, "It's sort of like when a soldier returns from battle, right? First, there's the PTSD. You have insomnia, you tend to swing from a variety of negative emotions on some days – though those have lessened, thank God – and you feel numb. You've probably even thought of suicide a few times, haven't you?"

Alice didn't nod, but she flinched, and that was enough for Dylan.

"I have no right to judge, Alice." He said, looking at her with dazed jade eyes. "After I lost my legs, I felt the same way. If it's not emotional detachment, it's some sort of anger or depression. I thought about killing myself more than I would care to admit."

She felt her nose sting and she put her hand in his.

Dylan continued, "PTSD lasts for as long as you let it, as cold as that sounds. You can sink yourself in alcohol, you can pop pills, you can bury yourself in your work, but in the end, it won't matter. No one can ever make us do something we don't want to; not really. You're the only one that can get yourself out of this…hole, for lack of a better metaphor." The Welshman sighed. "We'll always be there for you, Alice. Me, Alistair, Patty, Willy, and Alfred. And Francis. He loves you. I know he does. You don't notice it, but he sees the universe when he looks at you. Francis is just worried, Alice. When someone is precious to us, we cling onto them, afraid that they'll get hurt."

Alice said nothing.

Their eyes met again. "Do you want to do this case?"

She was reluctant to nod.

"Why do you want to do this case? Really why?" Dylan pressed on.

"I miss the thrill. After Lutz, nothing is interesting anymore." Alice felt herself burn in shame once the words left her mouth, but the weight lifted from her shoulders. "I'm restless, Dylan."

"I know." Dylan said. "I've been able to tell for a while now. Everyone has. Soldiers often can't adjust to civilian life when they come home. You can't go back to the way you were, no matter how hard you try. You have to accept that and move on. So, what are you going to do?"

The silence was deafening.

Translations:

Dydych chi ddim yn edrych mor dda. = You don't look so good.

Mae pethau wedi bod yn rhyfedd gyda Francis, yn ddiweddar. = Things have been weird with Francis, lately.

Rydych yn byw gyda'r dyn, er mwyn Duw. = You live with the man, for God's sake.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

That night, Alice told Francis what she was going to do.

Needless to say, he was not happy. "I cannot stop you, try as I might." He sighed into the crook of her neck, pressing their forms closer together. "But I am sure as Hell not leaving you alone to go on some wild goose chase."

"So, you'll follow me?" She asked, but she could barely hear her own voice.

"A la fin du monde, et retour."

XXX

"You stupid Leprechaun!"

Patrick whirled around, glaring at Alice. "At laest oi ain't naw banshee, yer bleedin tosser, yer!" And then he broke into a large grin, running to Alice.

They pulled away from the tight, brash embrace. "How're tú ag déanamh, tá tú cac beag?" Alice grinned, slapping him on the arm. Patrick had last been deployed six months ago and they had barely gotten to com-call him. Longer hair, probably hasn't seen a barber in a while. A slight stubble. Gross. Smells like diesel and steam. An odd, but comforting smell. Was that cologne? Huh. That was new. Alice doubted that was for her. She'd ask him about that later. Freshly pressed uniform. The blimp's captain must be pretty strict to get Patrick to clean himself up.

"Fit as a fiddle," Patrick smiled brightly. Well, at least he was happy with his job. Even if he had at least fifteen new callouses on his hands since she had last seen him. "You've still got de ugliest bake Ah've ever seen, though."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're not just looking a mirror, Patrick?"

Francis sighed from behind them. "I will never understand Kirklands."

"'ey, Girly! 'oy is it 'eadin'?" Patty promptly pulled away from Alice and punched Francis on his arm.

Her boyfriend winced. "How many times have I asked you not to call me zat?"

"Say something, Girly?" Patrick winked at Alice. Francis groaned. "So, where ye two morons 'eadin'?"

Alice smiled slightly. "Two tickets to Berlin, Patrick."

XXX

Francis' hot breath puffed out into the air.

The snow fell heavily from the cloudy sky, but Francis was watching Alice. He wasn't happy about this. Not at all. Vargas plus case equaled a pissed off Francis. Who knows what the stupid midget would get his girlfriend wrapped up in this time?

Francis knew better than anyone – even more than Alice herself – that said woman was in no way all right.

He was there every night, when the night terrors came. She'd wake up in the early hours of the morning, shooting up at a sweaty start with ragged breaths. Those were the good nights. During the bad nights, Alice was stuck in her nightmares. She would hardly sleep on the bad nights, only about 4 hours in total, fading in and out of consciousness. Alice mumbled and whimpered. God, he hated to hear her like that. Francis' heart twisted every time Alice let out a painful whimper. Trembling and drenched in sweat. Anxious. There were so many nights during the first year where she was afraid to go to bed.

"Francis?"

The Frenchman shook his head. "Yes, dear?"

"We need to get moving, since we've only got a small window of time to get this done." Alice frowned at him. She was still fidgety. She knew Francis didn't like this, but she still did it, anyway. Well, Alice did agree to drop the case if it got too dangerous, but honestly, they were empty words to Francis. But he knew he couldn't stop her. So, his only choice was to protect her from whatever came Alice's way.

Francis nodded. "Sure. Where to first?"

She gave him thankful look. He must've been quiet for longer than he thought. "Dreifaltigkeitsplatz."

Francis' eyes widened. "Bless you," Her laughter filled the cold air. Francis relaxed. Yes, things were a bit tense, right now, but they'd make it. Every couple had their fights and disagreements. Francis loved Alice and she him.

They'd be fine. He was sure of it.

XXX

Francis adjusted his navy blue tie. "How do I look?"

Alice looked him up and down quickly. "Not German. Try to leave the talking to me, okay?"

His heart sunk. That was not what he had been hoping for.

Alice noticed. She gave him a soft smile before leaning up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Et beau, Frog." It was an old insult between them, but somewhere along the line, it had become an endearing nickname for him.

Francis smiled, spirits back in the air. The English woman turned around and rang the doorbell. She winced as the buzzer sizzled loudly in the air. She also tried not to think about the time she was in Venice. It was a very different building in a very different country and in a very different city. But murder is murder.

It wasn't long before a greying man tumbled down the stairs.

His dark skin clashed against the bright colors of his hideous Christmas sweater. Unable to help herself, and eyebrow raised, "Es ist ein bisschen zu früh für den Urlaub Pullover, ist es nicht?" She managed a convincing German accent. Or, at least, something close to a German accent.

The man shrugged. "Die in-Gesetze waren auf COM-call."

"Ah," Alice nodded. She took note of the distinctly Jamaican accent. "Berliner Polizei. Wir sind hier einige Fragen in Bezug auf was Sie am letzten Dienstag sah."

The man, Mr. Boothe - if Alice remembered correctly, tensed. "Wir haben bereits bei der polizei gesprochen."

Her eyes narrowed. Boothe was lying. Lovino specifically stated that this one was the more recent and that he had managed to get some connections from within the Berlin police. So, who had talked to Boothe? "Ich verstehe, Herr Booth. Wir würden nur gerne ein paar Dinge zu klären, wenn das alles in Ordnung mit dir?"

Alice watched him fidget and tried not to smirk. Boothe couldn't deny, or else he'd seem suspicious.

"Natürlich. Kommen Sie herein." Boothe eventually said, swinging the door open.

The house was small, but homely. There was one shelf in the corner of the room which was completely covered in fragile trinkets, obviously from around the world. Someone likes to travel.

"Who is it, Darling?" A woman emerged, Australian accent thick like syrup.

Alice noticed the slightly pink ring finger. Bright from agitation, but not scratching. She's cheating on him. You can tell because she's obviously been taking the ring off of her finger so much, as the ring hasn't made a large dent in her finger, yet. Alice continued to analyze. Husband doesn't know she's cheating. She doesn't know he's gay. Alice nearly sighed. And telling by how worn down the ring is, they've been married "happily" for over ten years. A quick look around the house. No children. Probably why she started cheating on him.

"The police." Mr. Boothe said, his voice a bit colder than when he had spoken to Alice.

Hmm. So, he doesn't know that she's cheating on him, but apparently wouldn't even care, anyways. Probably wants out of the marriage. It wouldn't be any surprise, really. His wife had the permanent look of a dried lemon and hair the texture of straw. She's only staying with him for money. Which, telling by the furnishings, is quite a lot.

"But the police already came over."

"We're just here to clarify a few zings, ma'am." Alice managed to keep the Germanic accent, though she was speaking English. "We hope zat you don't mind."

She paused, eyeing Francis up and down. "No. No, not at all."

Alice twitched unpleasantly. Sure, she had dealt with plenty of women aiming to get their claws on her boyfriend. That did not make her any more tolerable.

Francis must've noticed, as he shifted upwards next to Alice. "Merci, Madame." The not-so-obvious rebuke to Alice stung. Hurt, she moved away from him and further into the house.

"Mr. Boothe, you wouldn't mind me talking to you privately, yes? If you don't mind, zat is." Alice asked the Jamaican man. She may have known that he was gay, but Francis and Mrs. Boothe were obviously clueless. If Francis wanted to play that way, then fine. They could play that way.

The Jamaican gave Francis a quick glance. He looked him up and down. Seemingly satisfied, he said, "Of course. Follow me." Alice felt Francis tense behind her. She nearly laughed.

"Pierre, take care of Mrs. Boothe, would you?" She gave him a sickly sweet smile, but she was glaring at him with her eyes. Her boyfriend flinched, but nodded and immediately put on a charming smile for Miss Lemon.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Mr. Boothe led her through the large house, past family portraits and luxury trinkets. Alice noted that the wallpaper was the same as the kind in Alfred's new house and wondered just how much Ivan had spent.

"This way," The older man gestured into a large room.

She nodded in thanks at stepped into the office. Immediately, she was overwhelmed by the smell of leather, bleach, and books. The office was obviously where Mr. Boothe spent most of his time. A food tray was discarded on the coffee table, which was squished between two leather couches. The carpet was a bright turquoise, small ivy-like traces squiggled across the fabric. All four walls of the office were lined with dark wooded shelves, each one filled to the brim with books. His black desk sat by a window, overlooking the office.

"Come, please sit." Mr. Boothe gestured to the leather sofa. "Pardon my mess, I wasn't expecting any visitors." He quickly removed the food tray from the coffee table.

"No, no. It's no problem." Alice shook her head. "I'm sorry we couldn't 'ave called ahead of time. We would have, but ze Captain was so insistent." It was so weird pretending to be a normal police officer.

"It's all right. I understand that you have - uh - constraints in your position." His Jamaican accent started to seep through.

Alice raised an eyebrow.

Boothe shrugged. "My wife doesn't like my accent. She says it grates on her nerves." The accent was in full power, now.

Alice's thoughts went straight to how many times Francis and her had teased each other about their accents. He didn't seriously think she hated his accent, right? True, it got annoying sometimes, but it was an endearing quirk that Alice found adorable more than anything. She mentally slapped herself. She was on a case. Thinking about her estranged boyfriend was not going to help.

"What do you zink of her accent?" Alice asked, keeping her voice somewhat casual.

Boothe laughed, "Absolutely awful. Especially when she tries to speak German! It's the funniest thing I've heard in my life."

Alice smirked. "Have you been married long, Mr. Boothe?" Small talk sucked, but it got them talking. She was looking for clues. Small ones. Ones that people missed or didn't think were important to the case. Everything was relevant to the case, though.

"About fifteen years this past week, actually." He paused. "That's why we were out in town. Normally, we just stay at home, but I took her out to dinner this year."

"And I suppose zat was…romantic?"

"Not at all." He shook his head. "I feel guilty to say this, but I'm almost happy that dinner was interrupted."

"I see."

"We weren't expecting it. Nobody was." Boothe said. "Nobody was."

"Sir, I know this is hard, but could you give me a few more details, please?" Alice said.

"Of course, of course." Boothe sighed. "It was a quiet night. Not a lot of people. And then – BAM! This crazy ass motherfuckin' clown crashed through the window, swinging around a," he hesitated. "A huge sledgehammer. Just swinging it, you know? Everyone started screaming and running out of the building, right?"

Alice nodded.

"So, I grabbed my wife and we ran. I only caught a glimpse of it but, there was just so much blood." Boothe sighed, rubbing his face, exhausted.

"Zank you, sir. I appreciate your cooperation." Alice gave him a smile, hiding her disappointment. She could've just read the report and gotten the same information. Then again, the report was folly. She stood up, "I should probably leave. My partner and I have a bit to do today."

Francis, when Alice emerged from the office, looked like he would rather eat a bucket of snails than talk to Mrs. Boothe.

"That your man?" Boothe asked quietly.

Alice gave him a somewhat absent smile. "Ja, just past two years."

Boothe smiled at her. "You must get this a lot then, huh?" The two turned and watched as Mrs. Boothe pityingly tried to flirt or get some sort of reaction out of Francis. Alice nearly snickered.

"All ze time." She replied. "Oh, and Mr. Boothe?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't hear it from me, but I zink you should check ze international section of your newspaper tomorrow. Specifically, Great Britain." It was hard keeping the German accent up.

Boothe raised an eyebrow at her. "I should, hmm?"

She gave him a genuine smile, for the first time since she entered the house. "You might find yourself traveling zere. Vho knows, you might even stay avhile." Alice walked out into the reception room of the house. "Francis? Are you ready to go?"

XXX

"I seriously have no idea why you are pouting, Francis."

The taxi glass that separated the couple from the driver gave Alice a sense of ease. The bloated cab driver wouldn't be able to hear them unless they started shouting. Which, knowing Alice and Francis, was quite possible, but Alice would try to keep things down to minimal sarcasm.

"I'm not mad." Francis huffed.

"Yes, you are." Alice kept her voice soft and put her hand over his. If she really thought about it, Alice couldn't think of another person that she'd been in a relationship with that she'd put so much thought into. Even her former fiancé and her hadn't been that close, though she only realized it after starting to date Francis. "You're made because I went to talk to Boothe alone."

She took Francis' silence as an invitation to continue.

"Just so you know, he's gay."

"Oh, yes, of course, he's gay, I mean…" Francis paused, from his angry rant. "Wait, what?"

"They have no children and the wife was obviously cheating on him."

Francis nodded. "But zat doesn't mean he's gay."

"The two different scents of cologne on him would beg to differ." Alice gave him a pointed look. "And besides, he's not my type."

Her boyfriend raised an eyebrow. "You 'ave a type?" They both knew very well that Alice was very much obsessed with her work. She didn't sit around and think about the kind of person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She just didn't do that. Alice wasn't that type of person. Francis voiced this, "Alice, if your work was suddenly personified by ze works of a mysterious god, I zink we'd never see you again."

Alice gave him a smile and brought his hand to her lips. "You don't have to worry about that stupid idea for three reasons. One, it's stupid. Two, I think god has better things to do than worry about my love life. And three, even if someone came along to try to whisk me away, it would already be too late."

The blush that spread like fire on Francis' face was adorable.

Alice never showed affection in public. And she never flirted. Well, okay, maybe once or twice. Francis' started to relax and he exhaled. He knew it was stupid of him to be jealous of Boothe. Especially, since he had started the little mini fight by acting so flirty with Mrs. Boothe, who looked like a lemon that had been left out in the sun for too long. Not that he had really meant it. Francis was a flirt. It was just part of his personality. He constantly had to remind himself that Alice wasn't French. She was English, and the English had different attitudes towards courting rituals than the French did. It was something that they both had to remind themselves often. Francis needed to cool it on the flirting sometimes, and Alice needed to show affection more often.

"Je suppose que ce serait inapproprié pour moi de vous embrasser maintenant, hein?" Francis asked.

Alice smiled back at him. If she were a more honest person, she would tell him that if she kissed him, Alice might not be able to stop. But she wasn't, so she didn't. "Ask me that question again when we're back at the hotel."

Telling by the grandiose smile on Francis' face, it was enough.

XXX

Alice's mouth went dry.

The putrid smell wavered out into the open air, slamming into Alice. It overpowered her, taking over her senses. "Shit." The detective hissed through her hand-covered mouth. She stumbled away from the doorway, before remembering that she couldn't act like this. Alice was a homicide detective. She couldn't be scared of blood. She dealt with death every day.

Nonetheless, some deep part of her shivered.

"Francis? Could you come here for a second?" Alice called, hands pulling out her cellphone.

The Frenchman got out of the cab and jogged to her. "What's wro – Oh, God!"

She nodded numbly. "Yeah." Her fingers danced over the phone keypad. Ring…Ring…Ring…Ring…

Lovino picked up after the second try. "Did you find anything, Witch?"

Alice nodded, even though she knew Lovino couldn't see her. "Yeah, five humans and two dogs. Dead."

Translation:

Ja = Yes.

Je suppose que ce serait inapproprié pour moi de vous embrasser maintenant, hein? = I suppose that it would be inappropriate for me to kiss you right now, huh?


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Francis could've said a lot of things.

I told you so. Drop this case. I'm going to crush Vargas' ball sack. Let's go back home. It's okay. I'll protect you. You don't have to be afraid. You can trust me. Lean on me, Alice. Stop being so scared to show weakness. It's okay. I love you.

Instead, he didn't say anything. That's what it means to love someone. Knowing when to say something and when to keep your trap shut. He knew Alice wouldn't hear him, anyway. After all the things that they had gone through, some things would just never change about Alice. One of those things was the destructive habit to bury herself in her work, in a meager attempt to get her mind off of things. Off of the horrors she had seen.

Francis sighed and simply slid a plate of food in front of Alice.

She startled. "Oh," Alice glanced up at him quickly and gave him a stammered smile. "Thanks." She'd forgotten that Francis was even in the room. Hesitantly, she looked down at her watch. "We should probably call Matthew soon."

Francis nods and begins to set up the monitor. The piece of junk is old and the annoying thing wheezes like an old dog. Francis gave it a swift kick and the static-painted monitor eventually sparked to life. It took a few moments and then a very blurry… (was that a nose?) appeared on the screen.

"Is this thing even working?" Alice recognized Dylan's crackled voice.

"We can hear you, but that's it." Francis responded. There was a but more rustling before the screen kicked to a start.

Dylan's freckled face appeared through the screen. "Whoa, Alice, you look like shite."

She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. She knew that this was really just her brother's roundabout way of asking if she was all right. "I'm fine, where's Matthew?"

"I can feel the love." He remarked, eyebrow raised and lips quirked upwards. Dylan disappeared from the screen, calling out to Matthew.

Dylan had been put in charge of babysitting duty until Wilma got back from her training, not that he minded. The rate at which Matthew Bonnefoy was informally adopted into the Kirkland family was astonishing. Alice's family spoiled Mattie rotten, but they consistently pranked Francis.

Speaking of the little boy, Mattie popped up on the screen, smiling brightly. "Papa! Ali!"

Alice noticed from the corner of her eye as Francis' shoulders relaxed.

Mattie had that effect on everyone, even her hot headed brother Alistair. There was just something about the little boy that instantly made people calm down.

"Are you behaving at Dylan's house?" Francis asked in a teasing voice.

Over the COM-call, his son laughed. "Yes." Alice didn't need to be a detective to notice the playful lie in Matthew's voice.

"Tell Dylan not to spoil you too much," Alice shook her head, smiling.

Matthew giggled again. "Okay."

Alice was in no position to tell Matthew what to do. She was his father's girlfriend, but that was it. She wasn't Mattie's mother. It was a simple fact, and while Alice would deny it to her grave, it did bother her a little. It wasn't so much the fact that Francis had loved another woman before her, no, but Matthew not having anyone to call 'mom'. She knew what that was like. She knew what it felt like to constantly feel the guilt of your own mother's death and the shame. What bothered Alice the most was that Matthew would have to suffer the same pain that she had, all because of some old hag who didn't like that he existed.

Francis continued to ask Matthew questions about his day and school, while Alice only piped in every here and there.

Her stomach felt like someone was stabbing her, which she knew what that felt like. Her mind raced back. What had she eaten? Maybe the chicken that Francis had given to her for dinner had settled wrong in her stomach. Alice shook it off.

"Alice?"

She looked up, putting a smile on her face. "Yeah, Francis?"


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Vague, foggy creatures danced across the outdated screen.

Alice felt a sizzle of irritation grow in her stomach. She turned off the monitor. "Is this the only footage that we have?"

Kiku nodded. "The kirrings took place in a very remote part of New Warsaw. Not many shops there have video cameras. We were lucky to find this," the Japanese man wrinkled his nose. "Even if it is from a fifty-two-year-old camera."

Alice sighed. "Address?"

"Here," Kiku gave her a slightly wearied piece of paper. "I doubt you'll find any clues as to why someone would viciously murder a man."

The British woman raised an eyebrow. "And how is what they did different to what you do on a daily basis?"

Kiku frowned. "I don't advertise my employment."

She gave a nonchalant shrug. "Either way, death is death. I know I won't find the reason behind the murder, but I think I have good chance at finding a trail of breadcrumbs." Alice grabbed her coat from the chair next to her. "Tell the midget that I'll be in New Warsaw for a while and to let me know if anything changes."

A half-hearted smirk reached Honda's face. "Will do, Kirkland-san."

XXX

Three receipts lay in her hand, crumpled.

Alice glared at them, as if the fading print knew something that she didn't. A mallet, a box of nails, and a rainbow wig. All the ingredients one would need for murder. The British woman trudged down the busy streets of New Warsaw, eyes darting about.

Steam curled at her feet, puffs of the substance exhaling from buildings. Alice felt small, shouldered between glass skyscrapers. Her boots clicked against the grey cobblestones, the sound echoing in her ears. New Warsaw felt like a ghost town compared to London, even when she had been in the heart of the city. She supposed that would only be natural. Fifteen years wasn't enough for The Republic of Poland to recover from the Siege of Kirishi.

Calling the Siege of Kirishi was politically incorrect, but Alice didn't much give a damn for those sort of things. In Kirishi, Russia, a plague broke out. The plague wouldn't have spread, were it not for the sudden explosion in the oil business. Thousands of people went to and fro from Kirishi for years, resulting in the death of 1.4 million in New Warsaw alone. The plague hadn't stopped, not even after Russia's Royal family declared that anyone with just a trace of the typical bleeding boils the size of eyeballs was to be burned. It had made its way through most of Eastern Europe, but only thanks the The Lockdown. No one was allowed in or out of Europe, trade slowed, and riots were daily.

Alice had been a teenage when it had happened and she could still remember the daily panic that engulfed the media and school. But, most of all, Alice remembered her and her siblings sitting around the local hologram shop and watching desperate people try to climb over the concrete wall that had been built. She remembered them all dropping like flies when the soldiers on the border shot them. Alice had barely got a glimpse of that before the hologram shop's owner had chased them out of the building.

Consequently. it made it that much easier for her to know that she wasn't alone.

Yards away from her, a man in a cold pressed suit was watching her. He blended into the crowd almost perfectly. Almost. Alice probably wouldn't have noticed him, if it weren't for five other copies of him, watching her movements. One was behind her, but she only knew this from catching glimpses in the windows of shops. There were two snipers: one of the balcony of an apartment building five blocks away and another in the opposite direction of the other, with a clear shot of the middle of her back. Another man sat at a café, but he hadn't bothered to order anything.

Alice wasn't an idiot; she knew when she was being hunted.

Her and the men had been at a stalemate like this for almost two hours. Alice's feet were screaming from all of the walking that she had done around the city but she knew that if she stopped, it would be over. She knew these weren't Lovino or Antonio's men. The Italian mafia cared too much for their appearance and the Spanish air pirates couldn't give a damn if they were wearing a pillow sack for clothing.

She couldn't run forever and they knew it.

They were herding her, she thought briefly. But to where? Alice glanced at the gun on the hip of one of the men. She didn't want to find out. Didn't need to find out. Alice tried not to look like she was doing anything out of the ordinary. She continued through the charade of a tourist, though she knew it wasn't fooling anyone that mattered. From the corner of her eyes, almost blocked by her glasses, Alice saw the man stand up from his table in a café. Time's up. Alice took a deep breath, held it, and then released it.

Alice broke into a run, adrenaline pulling her legs forward.

The reaction from the men was immediate. Shots whizzed through the air, zipping past Alice and singeing stray strands of her hair. Her eyes darted across, sharp and piercing. The blonde woman parted the crowd, her breath pounding in her ears. Gun shots continued to crack and pop through the atmosphere and Alice faintly heard the sounds of screams echo in her head. She felt it. Fear, desperation, anger, anxiety, curiosity, excitement, wonder. Life.

Despite the omnipresent sense of doom, Alice felt alive.

She tore through the streets, but her mind was only focused on the locations of the men around her. The snipers were hopping from house to house and the other three were in full sprint, chasing her like a pack of hounds. Alice's boots gripped against the cobblestone and she felt a wave of needles rush up her leg as a taxi passed by a nearby puddle. She twisted around on her leg, narrowly avoiding an old couple, and dashed across the street. Her legs ached and the bottom of her feet cried out against the pressure. Alice couldn't find a damn to give.

The British woman dashed down an abandoned alleyway, feeling a bullet sear her ear.

She let out a hiss, but didn't stop. As they moved farther and farther away from the crowded streets. Ha! And they thought that they could herd her. Her, the friend of the Italian Mafia. Her, the first Detective Inspector to be knighted by the King of Great Britain. Her, daughter of Fergus Kirkland.

Her, Alice Elizabeth Victoria Kirkland.

She barely felt the smirk grow onto her lips as she heard the rushed stomping of feet behind her. Closer and closer. Alice could see the rust colored brick approaching her quickly. She needed to change her route quickly. She scanned the side of the apartment building. Rusty ladder, not stable. Sturdy trashcan, but could be tossed over with enough force in the right direction. Fragile windows, probably half a decade old.

Alice risked a look behind her as she ran, and was greeted with a thin dagger whizzing past her nose.

Her boot slammed against the trashcan and Alice felt the impact immediately. The British woman's leg buzzed. She felt as if she were going to buckle, however she pushed forwards, driven by desperation. Alice bounced off of the cans, painfully aware that she was running out of time as the stampede of assassins grew louder and louder.

It happened fast.

Too fast. She hadn't even processed it until the gleaming cylinder tore through her flesh. Alice let out a growl mixed with pain and annoyance. Still, she leaped from the faded green garbage cans and latched onto the ladder. The rust crumbled underneath her pale hands. Her pale, blood covered hands.

Alice cursed as another bullet bounced off of the ladder somewhere near her ankle. "Can you even aim?" She shouted back at them. "My brother shoots better than you when he's drunk off his ass!"

Alice swung her body back and forth. Once. Twice.

At three, she released her hold on the ladder and hurled her body into a foggy window. It hurt less than she thought it would, but to be fair, being stabbed by thousands of little shards of glass wasn't the worst thing she had done to her body. Alice rolled across the faded pink carpet before breaking into another sprint. She needed to reach the roof before the others did. Also, finding the fucking snipers wouldn't be awful.

Alice ignored the gawking cleaning ladies and curious glances from renters. She stormed past them all and took a sharp turn up to the left as she heard the assassins crush the glass under their feet.

"Would it kill them to go take a break?" Alice wondered aloud. She stormed up a fleet of stairs, passing a flirting couple. She reached the elevator after a blur of floral wallpaper and tan carpet. The men in suits were at her heels. "Sorry, boys, next flight." Alice said, slamming her hand on the buttons of the elevator. The silver doors closed, barely shutting out the three men. Alice felt her body sag against the elevator walls, chest heaving.

"Fuck." She looked down at her left arm. It was covered in a warm and sticky substance, which she had only just now realized was blood. The bullet had lodged itself within her tricep, where it throbbed and seared the flesh like a hot poker had been stabbed into the muscle. Alice chewed on her lip, watching her blood dribble onto the marble floor on the elevator. She'd have Lovino take care of that for her later.

She watched the floor numbers steadily increase.

Alice took a deep breath as the silver doors slid open and she was greeted by the five men. Some were in worse shape than others.

"Hello, gentlemen." She said, keeping her voice level. "Lovely evening, isn't it?" Alice's glance flickered to the pin badges each of the men wore upon their pressed black suits. The ugly creature which took up the whole of the pin stared at her, dark eyes dead and cold. The symbol seemed familiar, but Alice couldn't put her finger on it at the moment.

She heard a gun click and soon found herself face to face the steel barrel. "Well," She muttered lowly. "You can't say I didn't warn you."

Alice took a deep breath and she shot out and wrapped her fist around the man's wrist. Crackling blue electricity flowed down from her fingers and up his arm. A piercing scream came from him, the only noise he had made the whole day. Alice blocked it out and kicked the center of the man's chest, knocking him over. She pretended not to notice him writhing on the ground. The other four men were on her quickly, unfased that their comrade was most probably dead.

Alice let the fury and pure animalistic survival instinct course through her veins, from her pounding heart down to her cold and blood-covered fingertips. It took the form of a crackling, hissing whip. Alice could feel the barely contained raw power that was an extension of her body. One moment of distraction and she would be unleasing a thunderstorm across the skies of New Warsaw.

The whip snapped across the faces of two of the men, sparks flying as it did so. She turned, snapping and flourishing the whip of lightning as she went. The screams echoed in her ears, and it did nothing but plant a seed of sick self-hatred within her. When at last the fifth man was down, Alice finally let the bright blue whip fade from her hands. The adrenaline left her body, leaving her feeling like a sack of bricks. Nonetheless, she managed to find enough energy to rip one of the pin badges out of the fabric of one of the mens' suits, ignoring how he was groaning in pain. She stuffed the badge into one of her inner pockets, the one above her right lung.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Before Alice even managed to get a word out, Francis was marching toward her at an alarming pace.

"Where have you been?" Alice winced at the barely controlled anger in his voice.

"I had a bit of trouble downtown." She agreed, "I couldn't call you, because I lost my phone somewhere during the middle of it."

"Trouble?" Francis frowned in confusion. "What tro - Oh my god!" He gawked at her bloodied hands and was just now seeming to notice the state she was in.

She winced again, though not from the pain but rather his particularly high tone of voice. "Ah, yes. That." Francis rushed her into the kitchen, despite her protesting. "It's just a scratch, I swear."

"Nothing is ever just a scratch for you, Alice." Francis gives a disapproving grunt once her clothes are off. It's almost as if he's saying, Told you so.

Catching his curious but scolding look, Alice at least has the decency to look ashamed. Francis shakes his head and mutters some French curse words, but he mostly focuses on bandaging her wound. "I think someone doesn't want me to find out who the clowns are." Alice finally says, "It must be for a good reason, as well, seeing as they went this far."

After she's finished telling the whole story, Francis has finished cleaning and wrapping bandages around her arm. "It will never cease to amaze me how nonchalant you are when it comes to these things, darling." He sighs, moving to find a change of clean clothes for her. The darling that rolls off of his tongue is smooth and velvety, but she knows better than to believe she's been forgiven so easily. His voice was level, barely, but Alice could see how much his body was shaking. The worst part was that she didn't know if it was from anger or fear.

Alice shrugs, even though he can't see her. "I grew up with my father coming home bleeding every week." She continued, "And I'm a female homicide detective. Blood doesn't scare me in the least."

"That makes it okay, then, does it?" Francis is facing her now. All of his anger has come back in full force and the darkness of his eyes makes her shudder slightly. Her boyfriend wasn't a very angry man. He was usually very laidback and casual. It went even to the point of coming off as lazy to anyone who didn't know him well. "It's okay for me to be worried about getting a call saying zey found you dead in some ditch, zen?"

Alice, wisely, decides to keep her mouth shut. She knows exactly how Francis feels. A lot of her childhood memories consisted of that same anxiety, that constipating fear of whether or not she would see her father when morning came. "It's my job, love." She said weakly, moving to him. "I know you don't like it, but it's my job."

"Which is more important to you, then?" Francis is full of fire and pain. "Me - no, your family - or your work?"

Alice doesn't realize that she's grabbed his hand until she unconsciously clenches it tightly. He's shaking and the tears are making his eyes glossy, ready to pour over at any moment. "You. It's always been you, Francis." She sighs and it's a painful, ragged breath. Not because her arm hurts, no. It's because she's caused Francis this much pain. And he doesn't deserve one bit of it. "I think you were right. This whole thing has been a mistake."

Francis is frowning now, but she can see the smallest glimmer of hope in his eyes. Just that gives her enough courage to continue what she would say. "What do you mean?"

"Let's go back home." Alice leaned closer into the chest of her boyfriend. God, how she wanted to leave their crappy motel. She wanted to be back in England. In their small flat by the train station. She wanted to just stay under the covers of their bed, holding Francis to her chest. To ignore the rest of the world was so easy, with the thick London fog surrounding the city buildings in the back drop. "I thought...I thought what I needed was to get back on the field again. To go back to doing what I thought was worthwhile. That maybe, just maybe, my work would have some sort of meaning in it again."

She had never once given up on a case before, let alone one that would pay so much. But Alice found herself looking more and more at the case with a sense of distaste. She, in some sick part of her soul, still wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about this case. The clowns, the murders, the focus on Hungarian government officials. But it didn't seem to matter nearly as much as her family, as Francis, did to her. Two years ago, when her relationship with her family had been in the pits and she didn't really have a reason to come home, she wouldn't have cared. Two years ago, she would have continued with the case, even if it meant killing herself.

But she wasn't the same person as she was two years ago.

Alice took a deep breath, with a sort of finality in it. "Now - now, I realize that this, whatever the hell this is, isn't the answer. I'll figure it out, whatever the hell I have, and I'll fix it….but I need to go back home. Our home."

"Do you mean it? For real?" The last sentence broke something in Francis and Alice was suddenly pulled into his chest.

For just a split second, Alice's thoughts wandered back to the screams of the men as the cold blue lightning ran through their bodies, sizzling the flesh as it went. She remembered just how afraid and alive she had felt being chased across New Warsaw, as they tried to herd her like cattle. "Yes. I'm sure."

Their lips met quickly and Alice felt a different kind of fire light up in the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly, her skin, which had been laid bare for Francis to access the wound, was on fire at every point his smooth fingers slid across her freckled skin. God, she loved this man. She pushed him down onto the bed, not harshly, seeing as Francis was compliant enough. He gave her a quirk of his eyebrow, a slight smile playing on his lips. How was it even possibly to look so damn cute and fuckable at the same time?

"What did I ever do to deserve you in my life?" The words came out of her mouth like a ragged prayer, barely above a whisper, as she trailed kisses up and down her lover's neck.

A low, pleased moan came from the Frenchman beneath her. His hand rested on her hips as she continued her onslaught of painfully slow kisses. The other one was rested on the nape of her neck, gently pulling her closer to him. Some part of Alice just wanted to get to it. To just have him inside her and and have her way with him until they were both sore next morning. An even larger part of her wanted to take a slow detour of his body, however. Wanted to make sure that Francis would know just how much of her heart he owned. Wanted to make him never feel like anything was more important to her than him.

Alice voiced this, relishing in the deliciously strained moans coming from him.

It had been too long since they had been able to do this. Sex, overall, yes. Matthew was in the house quite often, after all. But also to just simply make love to each other. Alice had only really learned the difference between the two once Francis and her had laid in the same bed.

"I love you," The words fell from her mouth easy and true. Years ago, when she had been with her conductor, it had never been as easy as it was now. "God, I love you. So, so much." Another ragged sigh as Alice grinded her hips against his.

Sometimes it felt the only place they could be true to one another was the bedroom, as toxic as it sounded.

The bedroom allowed them to shut out the rest of the world and ignore all of their problems. Alice felt safe to lay out all of her scars and feelings in the privacy of their bedroom. She felt comfortable to lay out all of her fears and hopes in their bedroom. Francis' attention was solely focused on her in the bedroom. Only her. In the bedroom, she let him express how lovesick he was in all of his dramatic antics. Well, he felt free enough to do it whenever and wherever he pleased, but she only ever responded to him in the privacy of the bedroom.

For them, the bedroom wasn't just a place for sex and sleeping, it was a safe haven from the rest of the world.

Francis carded his fingers into her ash blonde hair. "Ma reine…" His body shuddered underneath her as she nibbled at his collar bone, cutting off his sentence. "You, my dear, have managed to completely and utterly capture my heart."

"You sod," She couldn't help the grin on her face. "Always one for dramatics."

A laugh bubbled from the deep of Francis' throat. It never ceased to amaze her just how one little smile from that silly frog could make her heart stutter to a stop, only to be sent racing a few moments afterwards. "Only for you, My Queen."

Alice rolled her eyes. "Shut up and help me take your pants off." She didn't need to tell him twice.


End file.
